So, there I was, cruisin' I-40 just west of Albuquerque. The top is down and the road is empty. 100 F air felt just right massaging the old bald pate. Suddenly a Mustang pulled up behind me with brights on during daylight. WTF, over? I'm on the slow lane, pass me already and let me communicate with the sky and the wind. Tapped the brake lightly a few times and the 'Stang slowed down then sped up to ride my ass again. Slowed down and forced the punk to pass me. He pulled up next to me flipping poor lil ol' me da bird. Damn! That 'Stang looks frightfully mean. High triple wing spoiler ala Red Baron, chin spoiler, low pro wheels, the whole shebang. What the hell, the road is open and it's been a while since the Teutonic steed had got her throttle bodies opened up all the way. Downshift to fourth and floored it. The boy got the message and sped up. Waited for him to catch up and gave him the nod, floored it again. Redlined in fourth at 120, checked rearview mirror, he's back a bit. Slapped in fifth and then sixth and slowed down, crankin' up Frankie Avalon on the jam. The 'Stang blew by me with the kid honking for all it's worth. Oh jeeze, I just dusted a V-6 Mustang. Victory had never tasted so foul.